The Basement
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: A murder investigation takes a grisly turn and brings back unbearable memories for Tim. ...Sorry I don't have anything better. There are references to events through season 4. Now complete. Prologue plus 20 chapters. I hope you like it.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** This is yet another McGee story. There are so few of them that I don't think the depths of his misery have been sufficiently plumbed as yet. The story is riddled with angst and, more importantly, those who have really been paying close attention to every scrap of Tim's past will have to fanwank some of the details in here as I am definitely taking some liberties.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine! Not mine! Not mine! But I still love NCIS and all its characters. That's why I write about it, for free. :)

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**Prologue: The Nightmare Begins**

"You're going to be in big trouble."

The teen looked over his shoulder at his little sister. She was in her annoying "mom" mood.

"I mean it. Mom knows you're not doing your chores."

"Shut up." He still didn't tear his eyes from his computer, working quickly. Dad had bought it for him at Christmas. It had only been with great effort that he'd been allowed to keep it in his room. He'd already crashed it twice and rebuilt it again all by himself. He was already making programs on his own. Computers just made sense to him in ways that most of the rest of life didn't. Besides, they were a lot more fun than after school chores.

"Did I or did I not tell you to clean the basement when you got home from school?" The voice behind him was no longer his little sister's. He gulped.

"Mom, I just–"

She cut him off. "Answer my question." She stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, eyes flashing. This was not the time to make excuses.

He looked fixedly at the floor. "You did."

"And did you do it?"

"No, ma'am."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Six," he mumbled.

"How long have you been home?"

"Almost three hours."

"And what have you been doing in all that time?"

"Working?"

"On what?"

In a voice, barely audible, he whispered, "On my computer."

"Turn it off. Right now."

"Mom, I haven't saved any of it!" he protested, looking up for the first time. He wished he hadn't. Mom was angry.

"I don't care what you lose. You are going to turn off that infernal machine and go down to the basement and clean until your father gets home. You are not going to leave that basement until he walks in the door."

"But Dad's always late! What about dinner?"

"I don't care if he doesn't get home until nine! You can wait and eat your dinner with him."

"Why do I always have to clean the basement?"

"It's your job. Now, do I have to repeat myself?"

"No," he said sullenly.

"If you're not down in the basement in two minutes, you won't even touch that computer for the next month."

"But, Mom!"

"Don't 'but Mom,' me, mister. Two minutes and I'm timing you." She turned and left. His sister lingered and stuck out her tongue at him. When he took a threatening step toward her, she fled.

He sighed and turned off the computer. He trudged downstairs and walked through the kitchen to the basement door. He hesitated. Mom had already started cooking and he was hungry.

"Get going."

"Yes, Mom," he said reluctantly. He slowly went down the stairs and flipped on the light. There were a couple of windows, but they were small and the sun was on the wrong side of the house. He looked around. This was going to take forever. The place was a mess. He walked around to the little alcove where the broom was stored and stopped dead in his tracks. His vision narrowed to the horror that greeted him. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just stood silently, frozen in place as the image burned into his brain. He felt cold as ice and started shaking, but he couldn't move. His breath came in short gasps. He couldn't even shut his eyes. He could only stare. He willed himself to close his eyes, to shut away the horror.

A pair of green eyes flew open as the alarm went off and looked around wildly, searching for the image that was already fading. His heart was pounding, and he was drenched in a cold sweat. The eyes slowly moved to the calendar even though he didn't need the reminder. It had started. He sat up in bed and ran his hands through his hair. He could feel it in his bones: Today was going to be a bad day.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Come on, Tony. Why do I have to process the basement?" And on today of all days, he added to himself.

"You lost the coin toss, Probie. Besides, I'm the lead agent in this case."

"You did lose, McGee. I saw it very clearly," Ziva said.

The three walked up the steps to the old house. A Navy Lieutenant had disappeared two weeks ago. Just that morning, his body had been found in an abandoned house. Ducky had determined that his body had been moved after his death, making the entire house a possible site for the actual murder.

"Man, I hate basements," Tim muttered, then instantly regretted it when Tony snickered.

"Childhood trauma, Probie?"

"_No._"

"That was just a little too emphatic, McGee."

"Sorry, Tony. I'll try again," Tim said flatly. "No, it wasn't a childhood trauma. I just don't like basements."

"Adult trauma, then?"

"No. Drop it."

"Ooh, touchy. I'd say I was right on the money. Eh, Ziva?"

"I'll infer the meaning from context and agree. You are not a good liar, McGee."

Tim studiously ignored his snickering comrades and grabbed his gear. If they only knew. "So they tell me. Where's the door?"

"In the kitchen. If you get scared, we'll come down and drive away all the monsters."

"Ha. Very funny." Tim stalked to the basement entrance. The stairs were steep and narrow, and of course the light switch was at the very bottom. Who was the genius who thought that was a good design? Tim paused and grimaced but descended. Just before he got to the last step, he heard the telltale creak of the door as Tony slammed it shut. He sighed and climbed the stairs again. He tried the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. "Come on, Tony. Unlock the door." He was actually quite proud of the fact that he had managed to keep his voice steady and had let only his annoyance show.

Tony's muffled answer came back, "You need to work through your issues, Probie. I'll let you out when you've finished processing."

"Tony!" Tim banged on the door once, heard Tony's answering guffaw and gave up. He swallowed hard and walked down the stairs once more and felt for the light switch. Ah! Success! He flipped the switch and nothing happened. "Great," he said to himself. He walked back up the stairs. "Come on, Tony! The lights are out down here. I can't see anything to process!"

"Good one, McGee. You have a flashlight. Let me know if you find anything!"

"I mean it, Tony. I can't see a thing!"

"Turn on your flashlight then!"

Tim grumbled and again descended to the pitch black basement. There weren't even any windows. He felt for his flashlight and flicked it on. The beam flickered. He had forgotten to replace the batteries. How much worse could this get? He thought about going up the stairs yet again to ask Tony to let him out, but he figured it was a waste of time. He could make do with this for as long as he needed to. Tony would get tired of the game eventually.

The beam didn't seem to illuminate anything so much as define the darkness, emphasize the shadows. Reluctant to move forward, Tim thought that maybe he could just admit to Tony why he didn't like basements. Surely, he wouldn't tease him for something like that. No. It was personal, much like his distaste for grubs. He was an adult now and he could deal with it. He ventured further into the open space. Strange–he could sense that it wasn't empty. It felt like it was full of stuff. He shuddered. He took another step and tripped over a cast-iron stove. As he picked himself up, he winced. This was ridiculous. He was more likely to crack his head open than see any evidence down here. He turned... and turned again as he realized that he'd lost his bearings. He couldn't tell which way he had come from.

"Eenie, meenie, miney, mo," Tim chanted, pointing in various directions. "That way is as good as any, I suppose." Tim kept speaking aloud to keep himself from panicking. "I'll hit a wall eventually. Then, I just have to follow it to the stairs." That wasn't very comforting. Still, he couldn't just stand there.

He aimed his feeble flashlight at the ground in the hopes of avoiding any more collisions and took a step. Another step. So far so good. And then... he hit something. Something loose, hanging from the ceiling. It bounced against his shoulder again and again, disturbed by Tim's fumbling. His heart started pounding. He couldn't do this, but he knew he had to. He also knew, deep down, what he was touching, what he was going to see. He wasn't sure he could handle it. The flashlight flickered again. Tim took a deep breath and turned to illuminate the object with his dying flashlight.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

There was a muffled crash from the basement.

"You know, Tony, that wasn't very nice. Won't he just have to go over the basement again with more light?"

"You could go let him out yourself, you know," Tony answered, not looking up from his perusal of the closet in the bedroom.

Ziva stifled a laugh. "I have to admit that I think it's funny, too."

"I could tell."

Suddenly, they heard a strangled cry and a series of crashes coming from the basement. Ziva looked at Tony, slightly concerned.

Tony shrugged. "Hey, I _told_ him to use his flashlight."

The crashes continued and then they heard footsteps running up the stairs. Tim started pounding on the door frantically. At first, he didn't say anything. That actually unnerved Tony a little. Then, the pounding stopped. Tony stood up and took a step toward the kitchen.

"Please, please, please." The voice was so low that they almost missed it. It wasn't like McGee's voice at all. It was as if he had suddenly become a child. "Let me out. Let me out." The pounding resumed and the voice suddenly soared into a shriek. "Let me out! Don't leave me in here!"

Tony and Ziva looked at each other. The panic in Tim's voice was unfeigned. They ran into the kitchen. Tony unlocked the door and nearly fell over and Tim burst through and ran past both of them, out the back door into the yard. For a moment, neither one knew what to do first. Go and look in the basement or go after Tim and see what in the world happened? Tony decided Tim trumped the basement for the moment. They followed the path Tim had taken and found him huddled in a ball in the middle of the lawn, rocking back and forth.

"Hey, McGee. What's going on?" Tony knelt beside his teammate and was shocked at how white Tim's face was. His eyes were haunted and unseeing.

"I can't... I can't..."

Ziva knelt down as well and touched his shoulder. "What can't you do, McGee?"

Tim started frantically loosening his tie. "I can't... I can't... Still there. Can't breathe." He was panting as if he'd just run a marathon.

Tony touched his other shoulder and Tim freaked out completely. "Don't touch me! Leave me alone!" He jumped up and backed away. "He's down there! He's still down there! I won't go back. I can't... I can't. I won't look! He's not gone! He's never gone!"

"Who, McGee? Who's there?"

"No one. No one." Tim started hyperventilating. "I won't go. I won't go." Then, he suddenly collapsed to his knees, holding his clenched fists to his eyes as if to block out the sight.

"I'll go look in the basement. I think maybe you should call Gibbs or Ducky or someone," Ziva said. She fled from Tim's crazed ravings.

Tony grimaced at being left with this strange person who had replaced his teammate. He pulled out his cell. "Gibbs?"

"You finished processing already, DiNozzo?"

"Um, no. I think you and Ducky need to get out here."

"Why? Did you find another body?"

"I don't know."

"DiNozzo, please start making sense. I know that's a stretch for you."

"McGee's lost it, Boss. And I am _not_ equipped to deal with him."

"What?"

"Just grab Ducky. I think we'll be needing a psychiatrist. Please, Boss. I'm serious."

"Okay."

Tony closed the phone and looked at Tim who was still hunched over on the ground. He had resumed rocking and had begun weeping.

"Tony."

Tony jumped. "Whoa! What, Ziva?"

Ziva said, quietly, "I think I know what frightened McGee, although I'm not sure why he's gone crazy from it."

"What?"

"There are six bodies hanging from the rafters down there, in various stages of decomposition from what I can tell."

"He's seen worse than that before." He turned and walked hesitantly over to Tim. "Who's down in the basement, Tim?"

"No one. No one's in the basement. No one's ever in the basement. I don't go down there anymore. I won't go. You can't make me." This voice was new. It was low and monotonous. Tim was staring at the ground.

Ducky and Gibbs arrived a few minutes later. Tony figured Gibbs must have broken every traffic law on the books to get here so fast. Ducky took one look at Tim and hurried over to him.

"What on earth happened, DiNozzo?"

"It was just joke, Boss. That's all."

Gibbs turned his full attention onto Tony. "_What_ was a joke?"

Tony swallowed hard and glanced sideways at Ziva. She steadfastly stared straight ahead. He was going to have to go through this on his own. "We tossed a coin to see who had to process the basement. McGee lost. And uh..."

Gibbs' steely gaze seemed to drill right into him. "And what?"

"I locked him in. I said he had to stay there until he finished processing. Only the lights didn't work down there so he had to use his flashlight."

"What caused _this_?" Gibbs pointed at the frightened man on the ground.

Ziva finally jumped in. "I went and checked, Gibbs. There are six bodies down there. They're all rotting. I didn't see anything else, so unless McGee has an aversion to dust it must have been those."

"Nice joke, DiNozzo," Gibbs said flatly.

"I had no idea, Boss. I thought the basement would be empty. Honest."

"Come, Timothy. Look at me, please." Ducky was crouched down by Tim, gently holding his arm.

"I won't go down there."

"You don't have to, Timothy. Just look at me, please." Tim looked up and Ducky, with as much as he'd seen in his many years as an ME, nearly recoiled from the terror and absolute despair on his face. "What happened, Timothy? Can you tell me?"

"I found him."

"Who?"

Tim started to shake and he turned his head just in time to throw up. Ziva turned away, gagging in sympathy.

"Who did you find, Timothy?"

"He was down there. Just hanging. I found him." Tim shook his head violently and repeated, "I won't go back down. I can't."

Ducky physically turned Tim toward him. "Timothy, I need you to tell me who you found," he said slowly.

Tim's voice was full of an earnest plea for forgiveness. His eyes were focused on Ducky but he didn't seem to recognize him. "Dad was late for dinner. I didn't know he was home. I thought he was at work. He's always at work. I was supposed to clean out the basement. I didn't want to. I put it off. He was down there the whole time. I didn't go down until supper. He was there." Tim started to hyperventilate again. "I won't go down again. I won't!"

Tony looked on in horror. He had no idea.

Gibbs said in a surprisingly quiet voice, "Tony, Ziva. Go finish the house."

"Yes, Boss."

"Okay, Gibbs."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"It's alright, Timothy. Just breathe. Take a deep breath. That's right. Now another. Hold it. Let it out slowly. Good." Ducky held onto Tim's shoulders as his breathing normalized and then gently lowered him to the ground as he finally passed out.

Gibbs came over and knelt on the grass. "Will he be okay, Duck?"

"I believe so. The shock overloaded his system. If he found those bodies in the dark, it must have thrown him for quite a loop. Did you know about this?"

"No. His file said his father was deceased, but not that there was suicide and certainly not that he'd found the body."

"I wouldn't be too hard on Tony if I were you. I'll bet even Timothy won't blame him when he wakes up. He's apparently gone to great lengths to not tell anyone about it."

"Ducky? Gibbs? What are you doing here?" The voice that came up from the ground was very faint. "What am _I_ doing out here?" Tim started to sit up.

Ducky held him down. "I think you should just stay down for a few more minutes, Timothy. Let yourself recover."

For a moment, Tim's face reflected a general confusion about recent events and then he remembered and at once it changed to horror and embarrassment. "I..." He couldn't go on.

"How old were you, Timothy?"

Tim closed his eyes. There was no way he could still hide it. He could feel the tears starting. He swallowed hard. "Thirteen."

"I see. How are you feeling?"

Tim tried to smile through his tears. "Okay." He opened his eyes and squinted at Gibbs. "Can Tony finishing processing the basement, boss?"

"They're already working on it, McGee."

"Good."

Ducky asked gently, "Can you tell me what happened down there?"

Tim swallowed again and nodded. "I had just started going down the stairs when Tony closed the door. He locked it. I went down to turn on the light, but it didn't work. I told Tony that I couldn't see anything, but he told me to just use my flashlight. So I did, but..."

"But what, McGee?"

If Tim hadn't been so white, he would have been blushing. "I had forgotten to change the batteries and it was almost dead. I knew Tony wouldn't let me out for a few more minutes at least so I figured I could just look around a bit. It was probably empty except for cobwebs." Tim closed his eyes as he got to the part that had scared him so badly. Ducky nearly interrupted, but Tim continued, "I-I tripped over a stove and lost my bearings so I decided to just walk until I hit a wall and follow it back to the stairs. I took a couple of steps and I..." Tim swallowed again. "I ran into a-a body, hanging from the ceiling. I didn't know for sure what it was at first; I couldn't see anything, but it was like my worst nightmare so I figured I probably knew. But I had to be sure before I told Tony and Ziva." The tears came again. "The body was almost a skeleton. I think I screamed, but then I seemed to be in a whole crowd of bodies and I kept running into them and then into the wall. I don't know how I got outside." He tried to smile. He failed. "But I guess we have more than just a dead lieutenant."

"It would seem so," Ducky agreed. "You feel like you could sit up, Timothy?"

"Yeah. I think so." Ducky helped him up. The world spun a little. "I don't think I'm ready to stand yet."

Gibbs took over. "That's fine. Take it slow. Ducky, I think you have some bodies to examine."

"You're right. I'll call Mr. Palmer and have him bring the truck over." Ducky stood and walked back toward the house.

"McGee?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Why wasn't that in your file?"

Tim looked down, ashamed. "I-I couldn't stand the questions when I'd go for interviews."

"McGee, did you change your own file?"

"Yeah. It's still in the public record and in old newspapers. I only changed my official file, just before I finished at FLETC. He's still dead. I just took out how. People seem to feel they can ask about suicide if it's mentioned and they treated me like I was somehow contaminated by it. I just couldn't–"

Gibbs looked at his agent. Tim was gaining color in his face again. "Did you ever talk to anyone?"

Tim grinned mirthlessly. "I think that's all I talked about for two years of therapy. I passed with flying colors." Tim finally looked up at Gibbs. "I swear, boss, nothing like that has ever happened before. I've never freaked out about–about bodies like that. I've generally been fine since high school."

"I believe you, McGee. I can certainly understand not wanting everyone to know."

Tim swallowed back more tears. "I feel okay now. I think I can go back in and help."

"You sure, McGee?"

"Maybe just upstairs." Tim tried to smile again. He started to stand, but he felt so lightheaded that he nearly fell. Gibbs steadied him. "Okay, maybe not."

"Why don't you just go and wait in the car? There'll be plenty of people to finish up. Can you make it?"

"Yeah. You know, it's kind of funny," Tim said, as he started to walk away, even though it wasn't funny at all. "It happened fifteen years ago this week." He couldn't look at Gibbs. His eyes were red, but they were dry for the moment. Tim decided to cut through the house. It was faster. He saw Tony just coming out of the basement. For once, he didn't have even a hint of a smile. He looked almost tentative.

"McGee, I'm really sorry."

Tim appreciated the gesture, but he found that he wasn't in a state to handle any more questions or even kindness. "It's okay, Tony. Just drop it. It happened a long time ago." He kept walking.

When he reached the car, he sank into the front seat with a sigh. He knew what to expect for the next few days. The nightmares had already started. They would get worse. It would take him awhile to find his equilibrium again, especially now. Besides, Sarah would be calling. So would his mother. They always did. He had completely fallen apart on the first anniversary of his dad's death and now they tried to make sure it never happened again. But last year he'd had a minor meltdown and had to call in sick. No one would ever have known why, until now.

Gibbs watched out the front window as Jimmy pulled up in the truck and asked Tim why he was just sitting around. Tim had actually managed to plaster a smile on his face, even though he looked exhausted, and said that he was resting on his laurels because he was the one who had found the bodies. After Jimmy passed by, Gibbs watched as Tim sagged and closed his eyes. Fifteen years. And for the last three he had been working at NCIS and no one had a clue that this was the anniversary of the death of his father. Everyone had their secrets. It looked like Tim was no exception.

Ziva came up behind Gibbs. "I found McGee's flashlight. It was burned out. You know, Gibbs. I went along with it, too. It wasn't just Tony."

"I guessed."

"Is he okay?"

"For now."

"I'm glad." She started to go back to the basement then turned. "Here. McGee must have dropped it." She handed Gibbs Tim's bag."

"Thanks. I'm going to take him back to NCIS. He doesn't want this spread around. I expect you and Tony to respect that."

"Understood."

"Good." Gibbs left and found Tim asleep in the car. There was no way to open and close the door without waking him up so he just went ahead and did it. "Wake up, McGee. Time to get back to work."

Tim's eyes flew open and Gibbs saw the fear in them well up and disappear almost instantly. In fact, Gibbs would have missed it if he hadn't been watching him closely. Tim was a lot stronger than they all had assumed. "Yes, boss. Right away." He started to stand up.

"Not here, McGee. Get in the car."

"Okay."

The ride back was silent. Tim looked studiously out the window. He really hoped Gibbs wouldn't be nice to him. You could never tell how Gibbs was going to react to these things, particularly lately, and he might start crying again. This had been too real.

"McGee?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Are you alright?"

That did it. The tears welled up again. He pushed them back although he still sounded a little teary, he knew. "Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He breathed deeply to control his emotions. "Yeah. I'll be fine. This isn't a good week, but I'll be fine."

"You can go home if you want."

"No!" Tim nearly shouted, and then embarrassed by his outburst he repeated more softly, "No, boss. I'd rather work and stay busy."

Gibbs just nodded, unsurprised. He wouldn't have left himself. When they got back, Tim started to catalog the evidence they had already collected. When Tony and Ziva finished processing the house and returned to NCIS, Tim silently took the evidence and photos down to Abby, more to avoid questions and stares than anything. He walked into her lab and into normalcy. Her music was blaring and the same gruesome pictures graced the walls. Strange as she was, she was comforting. Tim sighed with relief.

"What have you got for me, McGee?" Abby said, not even turning from her computer.

"I'll never figure out how you can hear me above your music," Tim said.

"It's a gift. What do you have? I heard there were more bodies."

"Yeah, in the basement. Fingerprints, photos, DNA samples. Ducky's working on the autopsies."

"Cool. You know, I think you need more sun, Tim. You're looking pretty pale."

Tim smiled. People see what they want to see. "You're right. Maybe I'll go tanning."

"Or you could go Goth. I think you could pull it off."

"I don't think so."

"Don't knock it, until you've tried it."

"I'll keep it in mind." Tim unexpectedly kissed her on the cheek and left the lab. Abby looked after him with a surprised smile.

When Tim returned to his desk, he noticed both Tony and Ziva giving him quick glances. Tony still looked guilty. Although he had managed to get his mask back in place, he still couldn't face the necessity of speaking to Tony. He wasn't angry, but he felt stretched and raw and couldn't wait to go home.

Suddenly, Gibbs looked at him. "McGee, why don't you head home? Until the autopsies are done, we'll be just sitting around anyway."

Tim considered that for a moment. Yes, he wanted to leave. "Thanks, boss." He quickly picked up his bag and started toward the elevators. He noticed Tony starting to speak to him, probably to apologize or something like that. Tim couldn't bear to listen. He increased his speed so that Tony didn't have time to say anything. He got to his apartment without incident and opened the door to find that a tornado had hit.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Hey, Tim!" Came a voice from the bedroom. "It was too loud in the dorm, and I need to study. Since it was so close anyway, I decided to stay here for a couple of days." Sarah walked out drying her hair. "Besides, you know how Mom is. She doesn't like you being alone." She stopped talking when she finally saw her brother's face. "Tim, you look terrible. What happened?"

"Hi Sarah."

"What's going on?"

Tim shook his head. "It was just a case today... in a basement."

"Oh. Was it...?"

Tim just nodded. "It's probably going to be bad tonight. You don't have to stay. This shouldn't be your responsibility."

"That's why I'm here, Tim. Don't worry about it. You help me all the time. I can help out my big brother once a year." Inside though, Sarah was dreading the night. Tim always knew when it would be bad, and it was a little frightening to see her brother acting like that. But that was her task. They spent the evening talking and then she studied for a couple of hours while Tim cleaned up his apartment and got ready for bed.

He actually managed to sleep solidly for almost four hours, probably as a result of what had happened that day. That was a record, but he woke up in such a panic that he gagged and had to run to the bathroom. He stayed in there, leaning on the toilet, for another hour while Sarah waited in the bed. When he finally came back, she smiled at him and he managed to return the grin. He fell asleep again right away, but starting screaming within minutes. Tim would never tell her exactly what was in his nightmares, but she knew that he was reliving the moment over and over again. She had only been about five and didn't remember much. Besides, she had never seen him dead. It was easy for her to just know that their dad was dead.

Finally, at about five in the morning, after a series of violent nightmares, Tim had fallen into a deep sleep. Sarah had followed suit almost immediately, but woke up when the alarm went off at seven. Usually, Tim was already awake, but he didn't move. She decided to get ready and let him sleep a little longer.

"Tim, time to wake up. Come on, Tim. You're going to be late for work!" Sarah shook Tim hard, but it still took nearly five minutes for him to really wake up.

"Wha–?"

"Tim, if you're late, you might get fired!" She had no idea if that was really true, but it seemed to be the right thing to say. Gibbs had looked like that kind of boss.

Tim groggily looked over at his clock. Immediately, he jumped out of bed. "Is that really the time?"

"Yes, Tim. You're going to be late."

"I can't be late!" Tim ran into the bathroom. With a speed Sarah genuinely envied him for, he managed to shower and get dressed and run out the door. Then, he ran back in and hugged his sister. "Thanks, Sarah."

"You're welcome." Sarah smiled and pushed him out the door. Then, she sighed. It hadn't been that bad since the first year. At least that _she_ knew. Even she remembered Tim's breakdown that time.

Tim ran in. "Sorry, I'm late boss."

Gibbs scrutinized his agent. Tim was still pale and it didn't look like he'd slept much, but he was acting completely normal. "Just don't let it happen again, McGee."

"No, boss." Tim dropped his stuff at his desk and followed Gibbs, Tony and Ziva to the elevator. "Where are we going?"

"Ducky has something for us."

"Okay."

"Um, Boss?" Tony began.

"What, DiNozzo?" Gibbs glared at him.

"Are you sure that McGee...?"

Tim broke in. "It's fine, Tony. Don't worry."

The rest of the ride was silent. Tim fervently hoped that it really _was_ fine. He shouldn't have reacted so strongly in the first place, but a repeat performance wasn't likely.

"Ah, welcome back, Timothy. I must say you're still looking more like my patients than I'd like to see."

"I'm fine, Ducky."

"If you insist."

"What have you got, Ducky?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, these men were most likely all killed by the same person."

"Killed?" Tony asked. "No mass suicide?"

"No, Tony. They were strung up after they died. I think you must have discovered the storage location."

"How did they die?"

"Well, Jethro, each one had their throat cut. I'm actually quite amazed that the heads stayed on. After decomposition, corpses often start to fall apart, but in this case, each one had the rope positioned just over the wound so that it acted like a seal."

"Time of death?"

"Varied. The one on that end was killed probably twenty years ago. This one just under three years. And our lieutenant has been dead for two weeks."

"Same killer?"

"I would think so. Same wound marks. I would say we have a serial killer on our hands. I'm sure Abby has finished with the identifications, but our killer, whoever he is, is very clean and methodical. No defense wounds, no bruising, just the quick cut..." Ducky grabbed Jimmy who was walking by and demonstrated. "...and then trussed them up like meat in a slaughterhouse. Thank you, Mr. Palmer."

Jimmy continued with his tasks, almost nonchalantly. "Anytime, Doctor."

Tim swallowed convulsively, but at least he was pretty confident that this nausea was the same he usually got when listening to Ducky's descriptions. If he just didn't act like he enjoyed it so much, it wouldn't be so bad. He listened with only half an ear while Ducky explained the decomposition process in devastating detail. He was looking steadfastly at the lieutenant they had found first. Why wasn't he in the basement as well? Why had he been left on the floor of the living room? If Ducky was right, and all these men had been killed by the same person, why had the MO changed?

"Is something wrong, McGee?" Tim jumped and noticed that Gibbs was standing right in front of him.

He gulped. Everyone was staring at him. He sighed in frustration. Just as he had expected. Once they knew, they acted like he was going to break into pieces. "Not wrong, exactly. Why would the killer have changed his MO?"

"What do you mean?"

"If those six men," Tim pointed with a finger that was almost steady, "were all killed in the same way, by the same guy and-and left in the same place, why was Lieutenant Rivens left in the middle of the living room floor? His throat was cut, yes, but he wasn't," Tim swallowed, "hung like the others. Why? I mean, you said he was killed somewhere else, but it wasn't in the house. Why drag him to the living room and not all the way to the basement?"

"Good question, McGee. Find out."

"Boss?"

"Are you deaf, McGee? We'll go and get Abby's ID's. You try and find out if the lieutenant was killed by our serial killer or if it was just a coincidence."

"Yes, Boss."

Ziva and Tony followed Gibbs out of autopsy and left Tim standing with his mouth open. Ducky walked up to him.

"How are you doing, Timothy?"

Tim brushed off his concern. "I'm fine, Ducky. Really. I'm fine, but I think I'll need your help with my new assignment."

"You don't look fine, Timothy. You're certainly acting almost back to normal, but your face makes Abby look positively tan."

Tim smiled at the comparison. He could see that Ducky wasn't going to back off this time. "I never sleep well during this week. It's all nightmares. I generally have nightmares for a few nights before and after the anniversary. It leaves me a little shaky, but I'm okay."

"Are you sure? When was the last time you had such a severe reaction?"

Tim hesitated. He didn't want to admit it. "Last year, although that wasn't as bad as this time."

"Really? And no one noticed?"

"I called in sick. Food poisoning, I think." Tim laughed wryly. "It was an accurate description. I couldn't keep anything down for a couple of days."

"You've been pretty clever at hiding it, Timothy."

"Most of the time, there's not much to hide. I have bad dreams for a few days, don't feel like eating. Usually, two weeks at the most and I'm back to normal."

"Usually?"

Tim looked around the morgue. No one but the dead to hear. "I think it will be worse this time. I can always tell when it's going to be bad. I can feel it building in my chest. I may have to call in sick again, but I don't want to make it a habit."

"Why was last year worse?"

Tim hitched his shoulders uncomfortably. He hated talking about it. It just brought the whole mess closer to the surface. "I'm not entirely sure. There was a suicide that we investigated, but I don't know if that brought it on. It could have been anything I suppose."

"No, Timothy. It couldn't have been _anything_. It was something specific. You're entirely too blase about this."

"Ducky, I spent two years in therapy after I found my dad's body. I didn't let it fester. I talked about it. I'm all grown up now, and I can handle it."

"If you could handle it, you wouldn't have to plan your life around whether or not your nightmares made you sick."

"Let's just work on the case, Ducky." Tim deliberately walked over to Rivens' body. "Now, is it possible that someone interrupted the killer?"

Ducky sighed, but answered, "I suppose it's possible, but we need to find the site of the actual murder. Since there was so little blood at the scene, he could have been forced to leave the body somewhere and it all drained out."

"You know, there's a trail that abuts the property where we found Rivens. He did run."

"But he didn't live anywhere near that trail."

"Hmmm..." Tim sighed. "I just don't know, Ducky. I didn't expect to have to do this on my own. I'll just go and see what they're doing. Maybe Abby has something that can help."

"Wait! Timothy!" But it was too late. Tim had left the morgue. He'd get to the lab before they could do anything. This time, Ducky didn't even think of using the video camera.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Abby, I just think this is a little extreme, even for you."

"I don't know, Tony. I think it's me." Abby looked at the blow up of the six bodies hanging from the rafters. "I only wanted to get a feel for the exact placement of the bodies. That could be very important you know. Besides, I think it's cool. Anyway, the guys are all military. Here are their photos." She brought up the images.

"Those all look quite a bit like our late lieutenant."

"You're so on today, Tony. Not only that, but they're all the same age. They come from different places, but they were all married as well."

"Residences?"

"They lived in base housing, Gibbs."

The elevator opened and Tim stepped out, unnoticed by the group. He walked into the lab... and straight into his nightmares. Looming in front of his eyes was a larger-than-life image of the bodies he had found. The fates seemed to be conspiring against him as what little color he had in his face drained away. However, this time, instead of running, he just stood frozen. The details were so much worse than even the shadowy half-light he'd had before. Suddenly, he was aware of a disturbing sensation in his stomach. He hadn't eaten anything since last night and he'd thrown it up anyway, but his stomach didn't care about that. It was rebelling in the worst possible way. There was a roaring in his ears and all he could see were those bodies.

He didn't think anyone had noticed him yet. He slowly backed away and tried to keep a grip on his sanity. He could feel his control slipping away. He made to the elevator, but it wasn't there. He had to wait. He started gasping in his effort to not start retching and to stay upright. The doors opened and he nearly fell inside. He didn't even notice when someone else stepped in with him. He sank to the floor of the elevator heaving so hard he couldn't breathe. The elevator jerked to a stop. Slowly, he became aware of a hand on his back.

"Breathe, Tim. Just breathe." He heard the voice, but he couldn't place it and in his weakness he couldn't even turn his head to find out. "Breathe."

------------------------------------------------

Abby was still giving her spiel when Gibbs turned and saw Tim frozen in horror at the sight of her new decorations. He rarely listened to anything except the final results anyway since Abby never spoke in words he could understand, and this time he figured he could just ease himself out of the room. Tony caught him moving and looked back. In his concern, he started to move as well, but Gibbs shook his head. He looked back and saw that Tim had made it to the elevator, but he might not make it much further.

As he watched Tim dry heaving in the corner, trying desperately to control himself, Gibbs saw an image of what he might have been like had he been unable to find his family's killer, if he had been a different person. There was no resolution to this kind of loss. He couldn't have let Tim sit it out, but he didn't have to make it impossible for him to function either. He noticed that Tim wasn't crying. He was probably trying so hard not to that he couldn't breathe.

"Just breathe, Tim. It'll pass."

Tim finally became aware of something beyond the twisted knot his stomach had become and the pain in his lungs as he gasped for air that never seemed like enough. He didn't know how long he knelt on the floor.

"I'm okay," he managed to whisper.

"I don't think so, McGee. Just stay put."

"I'm sorry, Boss." Tim couldn't seem to speak above a whisper. It took too much effort.

"Don't apologize, McGee. Just relax."

"It was just–I didn't expect it."

"Don't talk. Breathe."

--------------------------------------------------------

"So clearly, whoever our psycho is, he or she is fixated on young married navy guys. I'm personally thinking it's a guy because to be able to slit a throat so cleanly requires effort and–" Abby finally turned around. "Hey, where's Gibbs? I mean, he _was _here, right?"

Tony and Ziva looked at each other. "He had to slip out, but he didn't want to interrupt," Tony said.

"Why?"

"I don't know, Abby. You'll have to ask him."

"Well, great. Then, I'm going to have to explain all this to him again later. By the way, where's McGee?"

"Down with Ducky. Gibbs gave him a different assignment."

"You two look uncommonly serious right now. What's going on?" Abby looked at them suspiciously. "No one died, right? I mean, besides the corpses Ducky has right now."

"No, no one died," Ziva said. Then, she amended it to, "Not recently.

"You guys aren't telling me something. What is it?"

"Nothing."

"For being the senior and Mossad agents in this place you sure are bad liars."

Ziva finally just said, "We can't tell you. You'll have to ask Gibbs... or McGee."

"Ziva!"

Abby shoved Tony aside. "Shush, Tony! What do you mean?"

"I can't tell you any more, Abby."

"Fine. I'll find out myself." Abby stalked out past them and hit the elevator button. Then, again. Nothing. "Okay guys. What's with the elevator?"

Tony said, "I don't know. It was working before. We all came down on it." He looked over at Ziva who nodded and grimaced, then quickly schooled her expression as Abby whirled around to confront them again.

"Gibbs must be using his 'office' again," Ziva said calmly. "We'll just have to wait."

Abby stalked past them into her lab. Ziva followed while Tony lingered just a moment, staring at the elevator and wondering what was going on in there.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Special thanks to Smackalicious for "beta-ing" the story.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 6**

"I'm okay now, boss." Tim was standing in the corner of the elevator, pale and determined.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay. Go down and see Ducky first and then come back." When Tim started to protest. "No arguments, McGee. That's an order."

"Yes, Boss."

Gibbs rode the elevator to the morgue and made sure Tim got off. Then, he went back to the lab.

"Gibbs! What's going on?" Abby was standing in front of the elevator, arms akimbo, feet planted firmly. "These two won't tell me anything, and I know something's going on."

"You'll have to wait, Abby."

"For what?"

"For McGee to tell you."

"Why is everyone being so difficult?" Abby shouted as she stomped back to her lab again.

-----------------------------------------------

"Timothy, you look absolutely awful. Sit down, right now."

"I'm okay, Ducky."

"No, you are not. You're transparent. I'm amazed you're even upright." Ducky pushed Tim onto a chair and then summarily pushed his head between his legs.

"Is this really necessary, Ducky?"

"Yes, McGee. Quiet. You're on your way to a coronary if you don't stay still."

Tim had no strength to fight Ducky's hands so he just sat still as requested. He still felt foolish. At least he wasn't wearing a tie today. Otherwise it would be hanging in his face right now. Why _was_ everything so bad this time? He'd investigated suicides before. He'd even investigated a couple of hangings, and it had bothered him, but not very much. He hadn't even had nightmares those times. What was making him overreact like this?

After a few minutes, Tim asked, "Ducky?"

"Yes, Timothy?"

"Can I sit up now? I think _all_ the blood in my body is rushing into my head."

"Let me see, come on up." Tim straightened gratefully. Ducky looked at his face. "Well, you're still pale, but better. Now, what happened?"

"It was just...unexpected."

"What was?"

"Abby's new decorations. She blew up one of the images Tony took yesterday of the bodies."

"I see."

"If I had known they were there, I would have been fine, but I wasn't expecting it."

"Timothy, I want you to stay sitting for a few more minutes. Tell me: why were you in therapy for a full two years? That seems pretty long, even considering the circumstances."

"Do we really have to talk about this, Ducky? It was so long ago."

"Yes."

Tim shrugged. "The first bout didn't take, I guess."

Ducky just looked at him.

Tim sighed and explained, "It was originally six months, but when my mom asked me to go to the basement after I had stopped my sessions, I couldn't. I walked to the door and couldn't go down. I couldn't make myself move down the steps. When she tried to make me, I went into shock. So I went for another six months, once a week after school. Everyone thought I was fine. I thought I was fine, but the night of the first anniversary I started screaming and woke up the whole house. My mom couldn't get me to wake up for ten minutes. I just kept screaming about my dad being dead. The next door neighbors called the police thinking someone was being killed." Tim smiled weakly. "So I went back to the psychologist."

"For another year?"

"Yeah. I'd always been the nerdy guy in school, but do you know how hard it is to be normal when everyone knows that you have to see a shrink at age fourteen?" Tim shrugged again. "After that extra year, I still had nightmares around the time it happened, but I went to school and everything was fine."

Remembering what Tim had said yesterday, Ducky asked, "Did you ever go back to the basement?"

"No. I would go into anyone else's. I had friends who had rooms in their basements and I didn't have a problem with it. It was just my own. Eventually, my mom stopped trying. Sarah resented it at first because when she got older she was the one who always had to get stuff from down there."

"And now?"

"Now? She's always around during this week. Mom always calls me at least once and sometimes Sarah stays over."

"So how was last night?"

"Bad."

"Worse than usual?"

"Yes. Can I go now, Ducky? I do have work to do."

"Alright, Timothy. You may go. I don't like what I'm hearing though."

"Ducky, it's over. Long over. It only bothers me once a year." Tim started to leave the morgue.

Ducky called after him, "One more question, Timothy."

Tim didn't turn around. "What?"

"Did you ever find out why?"

"Why what?"

"Why your father committed suicide?"

Tim froze. "No." Then, he walked out, leaving Ducky staring after him.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Timothy McGee. If you don't tell me what in the world is going on, I will kill you where you stand." Abby stood angrily in the middle of her lab, glaring at Tim as he walked in.

"What do you mean?"

"Tony and Ziva wouldn't tell me. _Gibbs _wouldn't even tell me. He said I had to ask you. I know something is going on, but no one will tell me what it is. They all said I have to ask you. If you don't reveal your deep dark secret I'm going to kill you!"

"It's nothing, Abby. I just had a bad reaction at the crime scene yesterday. I guess everyone thinks I'm going to repeat."

"Bad reaction? Was there poison ivy again?"

"No."

"Tim!"

"Is there anything you found that would indicate if these guys all died in the same place?"

"Tim!"

"Particularly, the lieutenant we found first. I think it's strange that he was found in a different part of the house from the others. It seems odd that he would be killed in the same way and then left somewhere separate."

"McGee, you are lying to me and you're trying to cover it up by working."

Gibbs got off the elevator while Abby was shouting at Tim. He stopped in the doorway and listened.

Tim looked at Abby, boiling with rage, and decided to bite the bullet. "Fine, Abby. When I was thirteen, I found my father dead in the basement of our house. He had killed himself. Then, yesterday, when we were at the crime scene I ran into those bodies you have prominently displayed in here. I freaked out. Now, will you answer _my_ questions?"

"Oh, Tim. I'm sorry." Abby started to hug him.

With his emotions so close to surface, Tim couldn't face a hug, not even from Abby. "Don't, Abby. Not now."

Stung, she turned away. "I can't tell you whether or not they were killed in the same place. There's too much decomp on the oldest ones, but I agree with Ducky that the same knife was used on every one of them, including Rivens. The wounds are exactly the same."

"McGee!"

"Yes, boss?"

"You and Tony are going to talk to the families. See if you can find any commonalities."

"Yes, boss." Tim left.

Abby turned to Gibbs. "Why is he mad at me? Is it the picture?"

"He's not mad at you, Abby."

"He wouldn't even let me hug him!"

"Don't blame yourself, Abby." Gibbs kissed her on the forehead and left the lab.

Abby looked at the poster she had made. "It's not that bad," she said to herself.

------------------------------------------------------

"Did you notice anything strange? Maybe someone following your husband or crank calls?" Tim sat across from Lieutenant Rivens wife while Tony was going through the study.

Tearfully, Liz Rivens shook her head. "No, nothing. We'd been–arguing. He left and said that he wouldn't be back for awhile. That's why I didn't report him missing for so long. I was so angry at him that I said he didn't need to come back at all. I feel like this is all my fault. I knew something was wrong, but I was so stubborn, I wouldn't admit it."

Tim gently touched her hand. "It's _not_ your fault, Mrs. Rivens. Just one more question: Did your husband like to run?"

"Run? Yes, but he hated to run on the road. He would always drive out to one of the nature trails, early in the morning."

Tim showed her the location on a map. "What about this one?"

"I-I think so. I'm not sure. I'm not much of a runner myself."

Tim smiled kindly. "Neither am I. Thank you for your help, and I'm sorry it had to end this way."

"Thank you, Agent McGee. I know you did your best."

Four hours later, Tim and Tony were finally done interviewing all the families. It had been hard to track them down and harder to get them to relate things about their husband or father who had been gone for so long. Tim had switched off with Tony to get away from the strong emotions they had to face. Now, they were driving back to NCIS in an uncomfortable silence.

"Tony?"

"What, McGee?"

"I think we should stop at the house on our way."

"It's _not_ on our way, McGee. It's in the opposite direction."

"I want to check out that trail."

"That area is huge, and after twenty years do you really think you'll find anything?"

"I could. Besides, we only need to find something that's been out there for two weeks."

"Rivens?"

"Yeah."

"What makes you think he was out there?"

"Ducky said this guy was clean and methodical. He wouldn't have taken any chances on the place, but something seems to have gone wrong this time."

"Okay, okay. This had better be worth it, Probie." Tony sounded almost normal. He turned the steering wheel and they headed to the house.

"There's nothing out here, Probie. Nothing to even indicate that those guys were killed out here. And even if there is anything, it would be like finding a needle in a haystack." Tony was now annoyed enough to treat Tim like he usually did. As much as he hated the teasing, it was almost a relief.

Tim stepped off the trail for the hundredth time and stopped. "I think I found the needle." He knelt down and took a photo of the blood staining the ground in front of him.

"What needle?"

"Come and look at this. I think it's blood."

Tony walked around the boulder and saw a huge blood stain.

"Wow. That's a lot of blood." Tony knelt down as well and took a sample. Then, he called Gibbs and reported their find.

"Yeah. There wasn't much in the house, if I remember correctly. Tony?"

"What?"

"Was there any blood in the bathtub?"

"What?"

"In the drain? Or in a ring or something?"

"Not that I remember, why?"

"I'm not sure."

Tony looked over at Tim. If he just listened to him, he sounded like the same guy he had been, but looking at him was like looking at a ghost. "Probie, do try to form a coherent thought."

"There's so much blood here, but it's not spatter, I don't think, and there's no sign of blood from the body being dragged..."

"He could have used a tarp."

"True, but what if the bleeding out here was intentional?"

Tony chuckled. "McGee, he killed the guy. Of course it was intentional. You don't accidentally cut someone's throat."

Tim flushed. "That's not what I meant. What if the killer drained all the blood out before he moved them?"

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know."

The two proceeded to process the rest of the area but didn't come up with anything else.

Finally, Tony sighed. "Well, let's just get this to Abby. It may not even _be_ Rivens' blood, you know."

"I know, but I think it is."

Tony hesitated, then admitted, "So do I."

Together, they finished collecting the samples and took them to Abby. She promised to get on them but that they wouldn't be finished until the next morning.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Congratulations, guys! That is Rivens' blood," Abby reported the next morning. The poster was conspicuously absent. Tim looked exhausted and was quiet. Tony kept stealing glances at him. He was concerned. "Too bad there weren't any prints."

"Yeah, too bad," Tim echoed. "Thanks, Abby."

"Tim?" Abby asked, uncertainly.

"I'm okay, thanks." Tim left, and Tony followed.

Again, there was an uncomfortable silence. Tim felt himself weakening. Last night, Sarah had been really frightened. She hadn't been able to wake him up, and when he finally did, he again had to flee to the bathroom. He hadn't slept the rest of the night, and he was tired.

"McGee? Did you hear me?"

"What?"

"I said that I'm not going to hold the elevator forever."

Tim blinked and realized that he was still standing in the hallway. "Oh, sorry."

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing. We have to find who killed Lt. Rivens, but I don't know where to go next."

"Why is this so important to you? It's just another case."

Tim shook his head fiercely. "It's not _just_ a case. It's real people, Tony." Tim's voice starting rising. "His wife is sitting at home, blaming herself because she didn't do something sooner. She's not going to feel better until we know, until she knows why it happened. She has to know that it's not her fault."

"Whoa, McGee. Chill out."

Tim was breathing heavily, and he felt his control slipping away. "Tony, stop the elevator."

"What?"

Tim started gasping. He didn't want to do this in front of Tony, but he couldn't stop it. At least, he didn't have to do it in front of the whole office. "Please, stop the elevator." He sank to his knees.

Tony stopped the elevator. "What's wrong?"

"Just–" Tim had to stop talking as he gagged. "Just give me second." He hadn't had time to eat again this morning, and he hadn't felt like it anyway, so he didn't actually throw up, but his stomach heaved and tried to turn itself inside out. Tony stood uncertainly. He didn't know what to do, and he didn't want to be in this situation at all. He couldn't see Tim's face, but he heard his voice whispering, "Breathe, breathe."

Finally, Tony knelt down beside Tim and said, "It's okay, McGee. Just calm down."

Again, that weak voice whispered, "I'm okay."

Tony laughed. "Yeah. Right. Take a seat." He sat down beside Tim and leaned against the wall of the elevator. After a moment, Tim followed suit although it was more of a collapse than a controlled motion. When he judged that Tim had calmed down enough to think, he continued, "McGee, if this case is affecting you so much, you should pull yourself off. If you don't Gibbs will."

Tim was resting his head on his knees. He shook his head. "I have to see this through."

"What if we don't find the guy?"

"We have to. She deserves to know."

"Who? Liz Rivens? Why does she need to know more than the other families?"

"Because she blames herself." Finally, Tim looked up. He looked terrible, but he was earnest. "Couldn't you see it, Tony? If Lt. Rivens hadn't been killed, they may have had a divorce or they might have worked it out. That doesn't matter to her right now. The thing is that she doesn't know what happened, and she feels responsible for not telling the police sooner. All she remembers now is that her last words to her husband were hateful and that her anger kept her from worrying."

Tony saw something in Tim's eyes. He could see that this was personal to him in a way, but that it wasn't the hangings that had done it. It was this widow. He nodded. "Okay, McGee. I'll go with you on this, but you have to acknowledge that we may not find the answers you want."

"I know." Tim stood up and started the elevator again. "Please, don't tell Gibbs about this."

"He'll probably figure it out."

"But he won't know for sure unless you tell him."

Tony hesitated. Something about the case was tearing Tim apart, but he needed to see it through. "Okay." Then, he smiled. "At least we don't have to clean up anything in here."

Tim managed a weak grin as the doors opened on the office.

"What took you two so long?" Gibbs demanded.

Tony shot a quick look at Tim. "Elevator breakdown, boss."

Gibbs didn't miss the look, but he didn't comment. They spent the rest of the day tracking down leads and hitting dead ends. Ducky couldn't confirm any intentional exsanguination on the older corpses, but he allowed for the possibility. Ziva and Tony went back out to the trail to look further along. They didn't make much progress beyond finding Rivens' car. It had been towed from the head of the trail after two days. No one had claimed it. Finally, Gibbs let everyone go home. Tim nearly collapsed as he walked into his apartment. He was shocked to find that it was clean. He heard Sarah's voice.

"Yeah, I think he just walked in." She walked out of the bedroom. "Tim, you look so tired. Mom's on the phone. She wants to talk to you."

"Okay." Tim sat down on the bed. "Hey Mom."

"Oh, Tim, you even sound tired. How's it been?"

Tim screwed his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. "It's okay, Mom."

"No, it's not. It's been bad, hasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I wish I could stop the nightmares, Tim. I just don't know how."

"I don't know how either, Mom. It's just a bad year. I'll survive."

"I'll call again tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you, sweetie."

"Love you too, Mom."

"Let me talk to Sarah again."

Tim handed the phone to her. He'd already told her not to tell Mom about how it had been, but this time he couldn't muster the energy to warn her again. He felt back on the bed and was asleep in seconds.

"He's asleep, Mom."

"How bad is it?"

"I've never seen it this bad. He really scared me last night, and he's so pale."

"I wish he'd talk to someone about it again. Does he talk to you?"

"No more than he has to. He didn't want me telling you anything."

"He's so... responsible."

Sarah laughed even though she didn't find it funny. "You make it sound like a bad thing."

"I know. I wonder if Tim even knows why he's reacting this way."

"I don't think he does, but what do I know? I'm just his younger sister."

"I'm glad you're there for him this year."

"Me too. Tell Andrew hello for me."

"I will. He sends his love."

"Good night, Mom."

"Good night, dear. Good luck."

"Thanks." Sarah hung up the phone and looked down at her brother. He almost seemed like the younger sibling when she saw him asleep. All the sternness he put on his face when he was awake slipped away. He'd always looked younger than he was and had to fight against his appearance. "Tim, wake up. You have to eat something for dinner."

"Hmmm?" Tim's eyes fluttered as he tried to drag himself back to consciousness. "What?"

"Dinnertime, Tim. You have to eat something even if you throw it up later."

"Well, that's comforting." He could always sound like himself even if he didn't look it. He sat up and together they made dinner. He only ate a little.

Sarah watched him. "Tomorrow's the day."

"I know."

"You should just stay home."

Tim shook his head. "I can't."

"Why not? You need the rest, Tim, and you know it."

"I have to finish this case. I can't leave it undone."

"It can wait a day."

"No, Sarah! It can't! I have to finish it." Tim stood and carried his plate to the sink. He stumbled into the bedroom and fell into bed. Sarah sat at the computer for a little while longer and then followed him. She was starting to fear that her brother was killing himself just like their dad had, only more slowly.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"No!"

"Tim! Wake up! Please!"

"I can't watch it again, not again." It was 4:30 in the morning. Tim had only been asleep for half an hour this time. Once Sarah dragged him out of the nightmare, he curled into a ball, sobbing. "I can't stop it. I can't stop it, Sarah. It just keeps happening, over and over and over."

"Tim, it's over. It was over so long ago. You've got to let it go."

Tim only sobbed harder. This wasn't like him, but he couldn't control it. "I don't know how. I wish I could. I can't keep seeing him die. I can't keep seeing him hang there."

"Tell me, Tim."

"No."

"Please, Tim. It hurts me more to see you like this than it could possibly for you to tell me what you see."

Tim shook his head.

"Tell me something. Not everything, just something."

At first, she didn't think he would. He kept so many things inside, but then he whispered, "His eyes are always open."

"What?"

"His eyes. They're always open and staring at me. Every time. His body– it's facing away from me, but it turns like in the wind. His eyes are always open. He's dead, but he's looking right at me." Tim broke down sobbing again. Then, he stumbled out of the bed and into the bathroom again. He'd already thrown up everything hours earlier, but it didn't stop his gagging. Sarah huddled on the bed, drawing her knees to her chest as she listened to Tim in the bathroom. This was so frightening. No one should have to feel this way, let alone see it happening. She had meant to wait until he came back, but it was so long and she was so tired herself that she fell asleep. When she woke up with the alarm, Tim still wasn't in bed and she got worried.

"Tim? Where are you?" She walked into the bathroom and found him cleaning the toilet. "Tim, what are you doing?"

"Cleaning," he said listlessly.

"How long have you been cleaning?"

"What time is it?"

"7:00."

"About an hour and a half. I couldn't sleep."

She crouched down by him. He looked awful. "Tim, please stay home. Don't go to work."

"I have to go. I can't stay."

Sarah grabbed him and hugged him to her. "Tim, I'm afraid that you're killing yourself."

With a strength he didn't feel, Tim pulled back and stared her in the face. "I wouldn't do that. Not to you and Mom. Sarah, I'm not trying to be macho or anything. I can't explain it, but I _have_ to finish this. Please, try to understand."

"I can't understand it, Tim. All I see is that my brother is sick and making himself worse and worse."

"There's more to it than that. I'm trying to solve this case. I need to, Sarah."

"Okay, but if you don't solve it today, you're not going to work tomorrow, even if I have to chain myself to your door."

Tim smiled. "We'll see about that." He stood slowly.

Sara watched him as he went to work and then pulled out her phone and started to cry. "Mom, he's getting worse. I don't know what to do."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

As he headed to worked, Tim knew Sarah was right, but he was at a loss to explain why this needed to be done. He hadn't had a problem with calling in sick last year. This case was somehow different. No one said anything when they saw him working at his desk, but they were all thinking the same thing: Tim looked like a ghost. Gibbs took one look and him and sent Ziva and Tony went to interview the other families again.

A few hours later, as Tony and Ziva drove back to NCIS, they reviewed what they'd found: All the men had been runners, but unlike Liz Rivens, their wives had known where they liked to run, and that trail hadn't been one of their choices. Except for the first victim's family. That trail had been his favorite.

"Okay, so maybe the first victim started the trend and the others didn't necessarily tell their wives where they ran, but why would they choose to come all the way out to this trail when there are plenty of places closer to home?" Ziva asked as they headed back to NCIS.

"You're the runner, Ziva. You tell me. Have you ever tried a new trail?"

"Yes."

"Well, why did you switch?"

"It was recommended to me by another runner." Ziva stopped for a moment. "Wait, if the killer had picked these men out in advance, he would have known about their running and could have lured them to that trail."

"If so, he'd have to be familiar to them, wouldn't he?"

"Probably, yes."

"Maybe some of their running buddies noticed a new guy around."

"Let's ask them... if they're still alive."

"Okay." Tony turned the car back toward the base.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm afraid I don't have anything new for you, Gibbs."

"That's not why I'm here, Ducky."

"Ah. It's Timothy, isn't it?"

"What do you think?"

"I think he'll collapse before the day is out."

"Do you know why?"

"No, not exactly. Obviously, something about his father's death is still unresolved for Timothy. He told me they never found out why he committed suicide, but I think there's something more. I just don't know what. He told me that last year when it got bad he called in sick. However, this year he is probably worse, but he's still coming. I don't know why. I don't know if _he_ knows why, but regardless, he's weak, physically and mentally."

"Is there anything you can do for him?"

"Not unless he's willing to talk about it, which he's not. He thinks this is normal."

"How about physically?"

"Short of strapping him to a bed or giving him a sedative, not much."

"Okay."

"You can try to send him down and see if he'll talk to me, but I don't know that he will."

"I've got another idea."

"Really?"

"Yeah, someone else who might drag it out of him, literally."

Ducky chuckled as Gibbs left. "Of course. Abby."


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"McGee, you're sleeping on my computer," Abby whispered in Tim's ear. He came alert with a start.

"Goodness, Abby! You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Looks to me like you don't need much help there," Abby said seriously. "What's going on with you, Tim? Are you still mad at me?"

"I was never mad at you, Abby."

"Well, you're not acting very friendly."

"I'm just tired."

"Why?"

"I haven't been getting enough sleep."

Abby decided to switch tactics. She was doing exactly what Gibbs wanted, but in actuality, he'd never even spoken to her. He'd sent Tim down to wait for her. Abby, being Abby, just wanted to know, and Tim could be infuriatingly obtuse when he wanted to. "Why didn't you tell me about your dad before?"

Tim looked away, focusing his gaze on Abby's computer. "I never told anyone, Abbs. It wasn't just you."

"But _why_ didn't you tell _me_? I thought we were friends, Tim."

"We are."

"Then, why?" Abby turned his face toward hers.

"I-I just got so used to not saying anything. I don't even really think about it anymore... except at this time of the year. I mean, how do you bring up that kind of thing in conversation? Hey guys, guess what. My dad committed suicide fifteen years ago today. What do you think of that?"

"Was it today?"

"Yeah."

Abby held out her arms questioningly. Tim smiled and leaned into her embrace. He felt the too-ready tears well up in his eyes and blinked them back.

"Will you tell me now?"

Tim pulled back and sat on a stool. "I was thirteen. My mom had told me to clean the basement when I got home from school. She was gone, helping Sarah with something. I really didn't want to clean the basement, and I figured if I stayed up in my room, Mom would forget until dinner at least." Tim smiled at the memory, then sobered. "That's what happened. Dinner rolled around and Mom suddenly realized that I was upstairs, not in the basement. I got in big trouble and she said I had to go and clean until-until Dad got home from work. I could eat dinner with him."

When Tim didn't go on, Abby prompted, "And then?"

"So I went down the stairs and turned the corner to where the broom was. Dad was there, just hanging. He'd been there all day, apparently. I still don't remember exactly what I did down there after I found him. Mom said that I was down there for about twenty minutes before I came back. I just remember that all I could see was my dad's body. When I came up the stairs, Mom starting yelling at me for not being done. I didn't say anything. I just sat at the table. She didn't understand what was going on until she looked at my face. I just said that Dad was home. He was downstairs. I think she knew what I was saying just by the way I looked, but she didn't want to scare Sarah. She asked if he was okay, and I just shook my head. She asked if she needed to call an ambulance, and I shook my head. I could tell he was dead even then."

Abby took Tim's hand. It was limp and cold. His eyes were empty and staring as he recounted the story. "Did you ever tell anyone else?"

"I didn't say anything after I told my mom where Dad was. The police tried to talk to me, but I wouldn't speak to them. I just went to bed and fell asleep. When I woke up the next day, I hoped it was a nightmare. I asked if Dad was really dead. The police nodded. They were there talking to my mom. The worst thing is, Abby, he didn't leave a note or anything. We never knew why he did it. No one had any idea."

"I'm sorry, Tim." Abby hugged him again. His body was stiff and unresponsive. After awhile he hugged her back and then pulled away again.

"Anyway, let's see if we can figure this out."

Abby wanted to protest, but she could see he wasn't in the mood to share any more details. Instead, she sat down next to him and they started to work through the evidence again.

---------------------------------------------------------

"Abby, we've got something for you!" Tony came into the lab, followed by Gibbs and Ziva. It was early evening, and everyone had been working all day.

"What is it?"

"A possible description of the killer!" Tony looked down at the papers in his hands. "Well, make that seven possible descriptions."

"How?"

"We talked to the victims' running buddies, the ones who weren't dead or senile anyway, and asked if they could remember any new guys that started hanging around them before their disappearance. They all described a similar guy. We want to get a composite and see if he turns up anywhere."

"Done and done!" Abby snatched the sketches and descriptions from Tony's hands.

"Hey, where's McGee?" Ziva asked.

"I don't know. He said he had to step out for a minute, but that was–" she looked at the clock, "–almost an hour ago."

"Let us know when you've got an ID, Abby."

"Will do, Gibbs." Abby turned to the computer and started to work.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Gibbs didn't say anything, but let Tony and Ziva go up to their desks while he went down to the morgue.

"Gibbs, I was just going to call you. I think you need to see this."

"What is it, Ducky?"

"I misjudged on the lieutenant's wound. It wasn't done by the same person as the other six."

"Are you sure?"

Ducky pulled out Lt. Rivens' body. "Yes. It was a copycat, intentionally trying to mimic the exact same stroke. There's a shift in the angle that I think is accounted for by someone shorter than our serial killer slitting the throat. It was someone else that killed Lt. Rivens, Gibbs, I'm sure of it."

"Someone else? Is it still related the serial killer?"

Gibbs and Ducky turned to see Tim with a pained expression on his face.

"I don't know, Timothy. It can't be a coincidence that the deaths are so similar."

Gibbs looked closely at Tim. He must have been losing weight during the week. "McGee, go home."

"Boss?"

"Go home."

"No, boss! I have to finish the case!" Tim was positively panicked at the thought of leaving.

"Why, McGee?"

"Because she has know. I have to be able to tell her."

"Who?"

"Liz Rivens. She has to know what happened. She can't keep thinking it was her fault. I told her that we'd find out what happened. If we have to start over, then it's going to take that much longer. I can't leave now."

"You're too close to this one, McGee."

"No!" Tim started to take a step toward Gibbs to argue with him, but as he did, his eyeballs rolled up in head and he fell to the ground.

Gibbs and Ducky were by him in an instant. "I told you he would collapse. Let's put him on a table." They lifted him up and were both surprised by how light he was. "I wonder if he's eaten at all this week."

"It sure doesn't feel like it. Or else you and I are getting stronger."

"I doubt that," Ducky said, smiling. He looked more closely at Tim's haggard face and sobered. "I think we should get him to a hospital."

"Is it that serious?"

"I think so."

"Okay. Let's go."

Ducky and Gibbs managed to sneak the unconscious agent out of the building, without anyone noticing the limp figure, and to the nearest hospital. Ducky explained the situation to the residing ER nurse. She looked at Tim and whistled.

"He's the worst I've seen in a long time." She hooked him up to an IV as quickly as she could. "He's to stay here for the next few hours at least. Then, he can go home, but he shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting or athletic activity."

"Gibbs, I'll sit with him for now. He'll be less embarrassed, I think."

Gibbs smiled ruefully as he left. "He'll definitely be embarrassed this time. He's always embarrassed."

Ducky chuckled in respone and then settled in to watch over Tim until he woke up.

----------------------------------------------------------

Tim opened his eyes, but the world spun around him and he closed them again.

"Back with us again, eh Timothy?"

"Ducky?"

"Indeed. How long has it been since you ate anything?"

"I had dinner last night."

"Did it stay down?"

As embarrassed as Gibbs and Ducky had predicted, Tim blushed and shook his head. "No."

"I thought not."

Tim looked around. "Where am I?"

"The hospital."

"Why?"

"Because your body was shutting down. We had to build up the nutrients you need to function."

"It wasn't that bad."

"It _was_ that bad, Timothy. You're going home after you get the go ahead from the nurse and you're not coming to work tomorrow."

"Ducky!" Tim sat up and sank back, dizzy.

"Timothy, I don't often get angry, but you are trying my patience. I have no interest in having your body on a slab in my morgue. I will be taking you home and you are not to stir out of your apartment for the next 24 hours. Understood?"

Tim opened his mouth to argue again, but he retreated. "Okay."

"Good."

Tim was released a couple of hours later. As he had said, Ducky left him at his apartment and he went inside. Sarah wasn't there yet because he was home earlier than he had planned. Tim felt stronger, but he was still so tired. He collapsed onto the chair to rest for a moment but fell asleep instead.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Tim! Wake up! Wake up!" The body turned. It was Dad. The corpse swayed slightly as if in a gentle breeze. "Tim! Please, wake up!" Before his eyes, the body began to decompose, the flesh crumbling away like dust. Except for the eyes. They kept staring at him accusingly. "Tim! You're scaring me!" There was just a skeleton left, a skeleton with his dad's eyes staring. A skeletal hand reached out toward him. The mouth opened and spoke. "Tim!" The voice of his father began to shift, becoming higher and feminine. It was frightened. Sarah. Tim opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor. How had he gotten there? "Tim, please answer me!"

"Sarah."

"Yes, Tim. It's me."

"What's wrong?" The mental cobwebs were dispersing slowly.

"I couldn't get you to wake up. You were so stiff. I thought you might be dead except that you kept moaning."

"Sorry."

"Just get up, please."

Tim stood, moderately quickly. He and Sarah ate dinner in uncharacteristic silence. She kept looking at him. He knew that he had really scared her this time. He had to do something. Despite Ducky's stern injunction, he decided that he would sneak into NCIS tonight after Sarah fell asleep. Maybe he could break the case. Then, he could come back home and no one would yell at him. Tim laid down that night and waited until he heard Sarah's even breathing. Carefully, he slipped out of bed. Sarah didn't even move. His dreams had exhausted her, too. He wrote a short note and placed it on the bed in case she woke up. Then, he left.

---------------------------------------------------------------

NCIS was dark. Tim was rarely there when there wasn't _somebody_ around and the empty building was a little creepy. He turned on his lamp as he sat down at his desk and started to go through the evidence once more. There was so much of it. The photos of the crime scene, the DNA samples from the corpses in the basement, more photos, interviews, IDs. The list went on and on. It was about three in the morning when Tim finally got through it all. His eyes were scratchy, but he couldn't sleep. He snuck down to Abby's lab. The composites based on the descriptions of the runners were up on the computer along with a final composite of all seven sketches. This was supposed to be the killer. Something wasn't right. He looked carefully at the sketches. Each one was similar... except the last one. It was different, and it was familiar. But why?

"McGee, what are you doing here? Ducky said you wouldn't be coming for a day or two."

Tim turned around with a jump. Tony was standing there staring at him suspiciously.

"Tony, what are you doing here?"

"I had some last minute things to do and saw your bag by your desk. Why are _you_ here?"

"I can't sleep tonight."

"What makes tonight different?"

Tim didn't answer.

"What is it, McGee?"

"It happened today."

"What?"

Tim shrugged. "My dad's suicide. It was fifteen years ago today. I can't sleep. I've been keeping Sarah up all week long and she needs to catch up on her rest."

"So do you, McGee."

"I can't yet, but I keep thinking that if I can just finish this case, it'll be better."

"I didn't know you believed in magic, Probie."

Tim was forced to smile. "I don't. Things would be a lot different if I believed in magic."

Tony nodded. "Well, if you're daring the wrath of the good doctor, then at least tell me what you're doing."

"I'm looking at the composites Abby made. Something isn't right. Have you seen them already?"

"Yeah. They don't fit. It was too long a time for people to remember. It was a long shot anyway."

"That's just it. They do, but I'm not sure why. I feel like the answer is in these sketches."

"Remember, McGee, there weren't a whole lot of people who could give accurate descriptions about a guy that may or may not have shown up twenty years ago, or even three years ago."

"I know that, but all of them except this last one look the same, don't they?"

"Yeah, I suppose, but the composite of all the sketches doesn't fit."

"All except the last one. All except Lt. Rivens," Tim said absently, staring at the last sketch. He looked the others and then came back to it again.

"What is it, Probie?"

Tim stood up and looked excitedly at Tony. "All of them fit, except Rivens'."

"Yeah, you said that already."

"Don't you see, Tony? Ducky said that Rivens was killed by someone else. These other guys were all killed by the same man. And doesn't this last guy look familiar?"

Tony looked carefully at the last sketch. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, McGee. He doesn't to me."

"I've seen him somewhere before. Recently." Tim started pacing. "Where?"

"Part of the case or some sort of ships passing in the night, like Ziva?"

"Part of the case, but I can't remember."

"Okay, let's get all the interviews and ID them all. If he's part of the case, we'll find him."

"We?"

"You think I'm going to leave you here alone, Probie? You'd probably break something." Tony acted light-hearted about it, but underneath he was still worried about Tim. He didn't look as pale, but that was because of the forced hospital visit. Tim looked positively exhausted.

"Okay."

Together, they searched through the interviews over the next two hours. Both of them yawned a great deal, but although Tim drooped a few times, it never lasted more than a minute or two and Tony noticed that his eyes were wild for a second when he woke up. Then, at 6:30, Tony held up the first interview ID.

"This who you were looking for, McGee? McGee?" He looked over and saw Tim out like a light, sprawled across his desk. Tony stood up and went to stand over his teammate. "McGee, you can't sleep here. Gibbs will kill you."

Tim came awake, stood up and backed away before he really grasped what was going on.

"Whoa, McGee. Sit down. It's not that exciting."

Sanity reasserted itself in Tim's eyes and he focused on Tony. "Sorry, Tony. I must have dozed off."

"Yeah. Recognize him?"

"That's him!"

"I thought you might. You were right. The first interview. The guy who called in the body."

Tim's mind slipped into overdrive. "He's the owner of the property. His father lived there before, but he had died recently. I remember he told me that the place was still empty because he hadn't decided if he wanted to keep it himself or not. Do we have a picture of his father?"

"I see where you're going with this, McGee, but that's a heck of a way for a son to emulate his father."

"I know, but it might be true." Tim sat down at the computer and got an old DMV photo. "Look at this picture."

"It's not an exact match."

"No, but as you say, it was over the course of twenty years. Details blur."

"Okay."

"We could get a search warrant based on this, couldn't we?"

"Well, for Rivens' murder we could. I don't know about the others."

"That's all we really need though."

The main lights came on. A new day was starting, and Gibbs would be walking in any second. They both looked up.

"You're going to be in big trouble, McGee," Tony warned.

"I don't care." Tim's phone started ringing. He picked it up quickly. Tony listened idly as he started talking. "Sarah, calm down. No, I... Sarah, listen..."

People started filtering into the office. Ziva came in and saw Tim sitting at his desk and threw Tony a look. He shrugged. Then, Gibbs came in and stopped to listen to Tim who was still trying to placate his sister.

"No, Sarah. You needed the sleep. You said you had an exam. I will. No. Not now. Stop it. That's not true and you know it. No, this has nothing to do with Andrew or with Mom." Tim suddenly looked up and saw Gibbs looming over him as well as Tony and Ziva staring at him from their desks. "Look, I'll talk to you later. Good luck on your exam. Bye."

"Good morning, McGee. I thought you weren't going to be here today."

"I-I wasn't, Boss."

"And?"

Tony, strangely, felt compelled to intervene. "Boss, we got a break, I think."

"How?"

He jerked his head toward Tim. "Mostly because McGee is an insufferable know-it-all."

"Thanks, Tony."

Gibbs glared at Tim, but he didn't say anything.

"Well?"

"Well, what, Boss?"

"Are you going to tell me what you found or are you waiting for me to guess?"

"Absolutely not, Boss," Tony said. He gestured to Tim to bring up the photos they'd found.

Tony quickly brought him up to speed and Gibbs requested a search warrant for their new suspect. When they got it, Gibbs made Tim stay behind while the rest of them searched the home of Walter Joseph Gneiting, Jr. They were back in under three hours, leading the suspect in handcuffs.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Gneiting sat calmly in the chair facing Gibbs. It was completely silent in the room, neither party making any move to break it. On the other side of the mirror, Tim watched the interrogation with Tony and Ziva.

"What did you find in his house?" Tim asked looking intently through the glass.

"A knife, some blood and a bunch of running shoes," Tony answered, equally engrossed.

"He didn't even try to run," Ziva added. "He opened the door and sighed. He just sat in his living room while we searched. When we found the knife, he held out his hands for us to cuff him."

"By the way, McGee, who is Andrew?" Tony asked, still staring through the glass.

"My stepfather. My mom remarried a couple years after..." he trailed off as Gibbs shifted in his seat.

Then, he finally stopped staring and started to question his prisoner. They all fell silent waiting to hear the end of this strange case.

"You didn't seem surprised when we came by."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Sons have a lot to live up to when it comes to emulating their fathers. They're never quite good enough."

"Why did you kill Lt. Rivens?"

The trio through the glass expected him to deny it. Everyone tried to, at least at first. "Completeness."

"What do you mean?"

"It had to be seven, Dad said. Always seven. Seven is complete, six is not. He made me promise just before he died that I would complete his work."

Gibbs was incredulous. "You killed a man because your father asked you to?!"

Gneiting shrugged. "He was my father. I saw his work over the years. It needed to be complete, but I wasn't strong enough for it. It took two of us to get everything right at the end, and I couldn't do it all myself. Lt. Rivens, you said his name was? Lt. Rivens was heavier than he looked. I took him by surprise and cut his throat, but I had to drain him on the trail and then he was still too heavy and awkward for me to maneuver him down the stairs. I had to drop him in the living room. I should have known someone would see him there. My dad would have been ashamed."

"So your father killed the other six?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why?"

"It was his work, he told me. That's what he did."

It was the matter-of-fact way that Gneiting explained his actions that was so horrible. He didn't look at what he had done as anything but tie up loose ends.

"Why Lt. Rivens?"

Another shrug. "He was there."

Tim felt ill. He was going to have to tell Liz Rivens that her husband had been killed because he was there. That wasn't a reason. That was like saying there had been no reason at all. Something stirred inside him, something he still couldn't consciously face. He abruptly turned and walked out of the room. At nearly the same time, Tony and Ziva watched Gibbs stand up and stalk out of interrogation looking nearly as revolted.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Wait, McGee!"

The dam was breaking. The dam that held back the tears, the memories, the things he'd been able to consciously forget, the things that still lurked in his subconscious mind. He couldn't stop. When a dam breaks, no one worries about a single raindrop. It's the torrent that drowns them.

"McGee! Stop!"

Tim kept walking. He never ran, but neither did he break his stride. The important thing was to get away. He had to get away from the man that had destroyed a life just because, because he could. He got to the elevator and it opened. He got in jabbed at any button. He didn't care which floor. He just wanted to leave. A hand stopped the doors from closing. Tim was pacing back and forth. He didn't want to remember. Gibbs closed the doors and stopped the elevator.

He grabbed Tim's shoulders. "Tim, stop."

Tim violently threw his hands off. The ache he was feeling seemed to great to bear and he couldn't deal with it. Tears rolled down Tim's cheeks. "He didn't care, boss. He didn't care what he did. He didn't even have a_ reason_! He just did it because Lt. Rivens was there! How do I tell his wife that her husband was killed because he was there?"

"Would it have been better if it was because Rivens was a symbol of something in Gneiting's mind or because Gneiting had some sort of fetish or delusion?"

"Yes!"

"Why, Tim?"

"Because there would have been a reason, something to hold onto. Something that Mrs. Rivens can remember and say that it wasn't her fault because some twisted psycho killed her husband. Even if it's an awful memory, it's something. Instead, she'll think that he was _there_ because she put him there. She's still going to think it's her fault!" Tim slid down the wall of the elevator, sobbing.

Gibbs started up the elevator again and sent it to the morgue. The doors opened and Gibbs kept the elevator there.

"Gibbs, what's going on? Tim?" Abby was just about to step on the elevator.

"Get Ducky would you, Abbs?"

"Sure." She ran off.

When Ducky got there, Tim was still sobbing uncontrollably. Abby knelt by him and hugged him, but this time, he neither responded nor calmed down.

"What's going on, Gibbs?"

"We caught the serial killer's son."

"Really?"

"He said he killed Lt. Rivens to finish his father's work."

"That wasn't good enough for Timothy, I see."

"No."

Ducky bent over and said, "Timothy, why don't you come with me and we can talk about it?" He reached out his hand. When Tim didn't move, he grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Tim's tears stopped as suddenly as they started. Abby kept her arm around his waist as they walked into the morgue. Ducky eased him onto an autopsy table.

"Timothy, what's wrong?"

Tim looked at Ducky, incredulously. Could no one else see why this was so wrong? "Everything's wrong, Ducky."

"But you caught the man who killed Lt. Rivens and found out who killed the other six men. Their families will have closure now. Isn't that enough?"

"No! It can't be enough."

"Why not?"

"There has to be a reason, an explanation, something," he said desperately.

"Sometimes, there's not a reason. Sometimes, bad things just happen."

Tears slipped down Tim's cheeks again. "Nothing ever happens without a reason, Ducky."

Ducky looked into Tim's tormented eyes and the pieces fell into place. "Are you talking about this case, or about your father?"

Tim started to answer, but stopped. He couldn't answer, not honestly.

"Timothy, do you still blame yourself for your father's death?"

"I–no, of course not. I know how he died. I didn't kill him."

"I wasn't suggesting that you did, but you seem very focused on helping Mrs. Rivens so that she doesn't blame herself for her husband's death. More so than on finding the simple truth."

"The truth is never simple, Ducky. She shouldn't blame herself for what happened to her husband, but I know she will."

"Why? She didn't kill him."

"Because she'll think that if she had just called him back or that if she had reported him missing sooner or that if she had done any other of a million things that he would still be alive. In a way, she's right, but that doesn't make it her fault. I don't know how I can keep her from feeling that way."

"Is that how it is for you, Timothy?"

Tim was silent.

"Well?"

"I-I don't blame myself, Ducky."

"That didn't sound very certain."

"I-"

"Why do you blame yourself?" he asked again.

Tim didn't answer for a couple of minutes. Ducky let him think about it. Gibbs had left finish up with Gneiting, but Abby remained, standing silently beside Tim. He had forgotten she was there.

"I-I didn't go down to the basement."

"You were the one who found him, correct?"

"Yes, but I was supposed to go down earlier. I was supposed to clean the basement, right when I got home from school."

"And why does that make it your fault?"

Tim squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to remember this. He didn't want to say the words. "I-I heard the police talking to my mom, the day after. They told her it was suicide."

"And?"

"Time of death was at about 3:30 in the afternoon." Tim felt like he was pulling the words out of a deep hole in his mind. It was hard to say them and harder still to hear them.

"Why does that make it your fault?"

Tim bent over and covered his face. His voice, when he resumed, was muffled. "I-I got home at 3:15." The tears began again. He couldn't hold them back as he kept talking. "Dad was still alive when I got there. If-If I had gone down to the basement–"

"Oh, Timothy."

"I could have saved him, cut him down or something. Mom never said anything. No one did. I don't think I was supposed to hear that. One of the officers even said that if I had gone down, I would have seen him. They didn't know I was supposed to."

"It's not your fault, Timothy."

Tim just shook his head. "I know that I didn't kill him. I didn't drive him to kill himself, but if I had done what I was told, I would have found him...alive. It might have been too late to save him. Maybe–" the tears dripped. "–maybe I could have known why."

"Why didn't you talk about this before?"

"I didn't remember."

"What do you mean?"

"I remember coming down the stairs. I remember seeing my mom's face when they told her how he died. I remember the officers seeing me. I forgot what they had said."

"Not forgot, Timothy. Repressed. You didn't want to remember, but you always knew. Your dreams are about that aren't they." It wasn't a question.

Tim nodded, shaking more tears loose. He felt like he had shed too many already. How many tears did one person have? "Always. Dad keeps reaching out to me, asking for help. He always looks at me and asks me why. I can't answer him, Ducky. I don't know why."

"You probably never will, Timothy."

"That's the worst part, never knowing the reason." Tim broke down crying again. Abby hugged him tightly and he put his arms around her as well, sobbing as if his heart would break. He shed the tears of shame and regret he'd never been able to consciously express. Abby didn't say anything. Honestly, how could you comfort someone for a tragedy that had occurred long before you had even met? She just held him tightly and let him cry.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Timothy, wait a moment."

Tim had been heading out of the morgue. Abby hadn't wanted to leave him, but she still had her own work to do, and Tim had calmed down considerably. He was empty, drained of tears as well as emotion, at least for the moment.

"What, Ducky?"

"Let's go outside. I need to ask you something, but it doesn't have to be done in a morgue." He smiled.

"Okay." Tim waited while Ducky grabbed his coat. The elevator ride was silent. Once they got outside, Ducky sat on a bench and glanced at Tim as he sat beside him. This calm was almost unnerving after the explosive emotion he'd let out before.

"How are you feeling, Timothy?"

"I don't know, Ducky." Tim leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. "How _should_ I be feeling?" There was no rancor in his question, just simple confusion.

"Timothy, if I knew that, I think I'd be the smartest man in the world."

Tim smiled sadly. "I think you're pretty close." He hesitated, then said, "My dad would have liked you. He loved to learn new things and then tell us about them, even when we didn't care."

"Tell me about him."

A gamut of emotions danced across his face ranging from pain to happiness. "He was kind of a cross between you and Gibbs, not quite so stern as Gibbs and not as glib as you. He always had a story ready if we complained about anything." Tim actually laughed a little. "You know the type: 'When I was your age we walked to school uphill both ways through a blinding snowstorm.' He worked a lot. He had to, but whenever he wasn't working, he was at home with us. He always said that family was the most important thing we could have. Nothing could replace it and nothing could break it." Tim grimaced. "That's what he said, but–" he stopped abruptly and tried to stop the tears the threatened to fall again.

"But he broke it, didn't he?" Ducky said softly.

Tim sniffed. "Yeah. He broke it, and I was mad at him for it for awhile. I felt like he had lied, that we weren't enough."

"And now?"

"Now, I'm just sad. Sometimes, I think back and try to figure out what might have pushed him to it. I know he loved us, but something must have been stronger. Out front I've accepted that I'll never know what he was thinking, but inside... it still hurts, Ducky. It hurts as much now as it did when I first saw him. I felt abandoned, alone in the basement. The nightmares only come once a year, but sometimes I wish I could wake up and have this whole thing, everything I've done since then, just be a nightmare."

Ducky put a hand on Tim's back. Tim stiffened at first, but then sighed and dropped his head.

"What do I say to her, Ducky?"

"To whom?"

"Liz Rivens. How do I tell her what we found?"

"How do you wish you had found out about when your father died?"

"I wish I hadn't known at all, but if I don't tell her now, she'll read it in the papers."

"But if you didn't have a choice; you were going to have to know that your father died _after_ you got home, how would you have wanted to know?"

Tim considered the idea. "I wish my mom had taken me aside and told me that Dad had died in the afternoon, that he had left work early and no one knew why. I wish she had said that it wasn't our fault that he had killed himself, and that he still loved us even if we didn't understand why it had happened."

"You wish she had glossed it over."

"Yes. There was no reason for me to know exactly when Dad died. Knowing wouldn't have changed what I had done or not done."

"Well?"

"Don't give her the reason Gneiting gave?"

"It's a thought. She may insist and as she is _not_ thirteen, you can't pretend that everything is okay, but if she doesn't, you don't have to give details. Tell her that we caught the man who killed her husband, that he had picked out her husband days beforehand. There was nothing she could have done to change the outcome."

Tim sat back and nodded.

"And Timothy?"

"Yes?"

"There was nothing _you_ could have done either."

Tim turned at stared at Ducky.

"I'm sure you know that people who really want to commit suicide will eventually succeed, no matter what anyone else does. Even if you had been able to stop him that time, and I question that you could have done anything, you couldn't have been there if he tried again."

Tim was silent, but there was a subtle difference in his expression. Ducky knew well that the pain and grief of years couldn't be dispelled in a single day or even a single week, but he had truly _heard_ what Ducky had said. Maybe that would make the difference.

"Well, Timothy, I must get home to Mother." Ducky grimaced.

Tim chuckled and stood with Ducky.

"Thanks, Ducky."

Ducky turned back to Tim and squeezed his shoulder. "Timothy, I'm just trying to open your mind to possibilities. You have to decide whether or not they'll turn into realities. Pleasant dreams." He walked away.

"Pleasant dreams," Tim repeated softly. He stood alone for a few minutes, thinking about what Ducky had said. Then, he was surprised by a clout on his back.

"Come on, Probie. I'll give you a ride home. I noticed that you didn't drive today."

"I can take the bus."

"The smelly city bus? No way."

"It's not that smelly," Tim said as Tony propelled him toward his car.

"Your olfactory receptors must be malfunctioning."

"Wow, Tony. I think that was three polysyllabic words in a single sentence. You've been practicing."

"Funny guy. Just get in the car."

"Okay."

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Tony looked over at Tim. There was a calm there that had been absent the entire week.

"McGee, I'm sorry about your dad."

Tim didn't make eye contact. "It happened a long time ago, Tony."

"I know, but it feels like it just happened too, doesn't it?"

"Sometimes."

"As long as it's real to you, then I can say I'm sorry."

Tim tried to hold back a smile. "Thanks."

"McGee, I can tell Lt. Rivens' wife tomorrow. You don't have–"

Tim interrupted. "No, Tony. I need to do it. Thanks, but I'll be okay."

The rest of the ride was silent, but the awkwardness that had been between them before was missing.

When they pulled up to Tim's apartment, Tim didn't move for a moment. Tony looked at him and saw him nod to himself.

"Thanks for the ride, Tony."

"No problem, Probie." He paused. "Get some sleep tonight, would ya?"

Tim smiled. It was stretched and thin but it was genuine. "I'll try."

"See you tomorrow."

"Night, Tony."


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"Tim!" As soon as he stepped in the door, Sarah grabbed him and hugged him tightly.

"Sarah, it's okay. Everything's fine."

"No, it's not. You probably didn't sleep a wink last night, did you?"

"No. But Sarah, it's okay. Really." Tim pulled away from her and took out his phone.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hi Andrew. Is Mom there?" Tim looked at Sarah. She was still angry with him, but she sat next to him on the bed and waited to hear what he needed to say.

"Hi, Tim. How are you doing?"

"Okay."

"She's here. I'll get her."

"Thanks." Tim waited. He and Andrew had always got along well. He had understood right from the start that he couldn't replace Tim's dad, and so he had never tried. That had allowed Tim to accept him as a mentor and later as a friend, and Sarah had been able to have a father figure in her life while she was growing up.

"Yes, Tim? What is it?"

"Mom, I-I..." Tim trailed off, not sure how to say it.

"What, Tim?"

"I heard what the police said." The words came out in a rush.

"Police? When?"

"After Dad died. I heard them talking to you."

He heard a gasp. "Oh, Tim. You mean when they said--"

He finished for her, "–when they told you what time Dad died, that I was home."

"Oh, Tim. I had no idea. Why didn't you say something?"

"I-I saw your face, and I couldn't stand knowing. I could have–" Tim couldn't continue and felt the tears starting again. Sarah held his free hand tightly.

There was a long silence and Tim was tense as he waited for his mom to speak. Finally, she sighed but he heard the love in her voice as she said firmly, "Yes, maybe you could have, but you didn't. And I say that without malice. We all lost someone we loved that day, Tim. I can't blame you for acting like a teenager. There was nothing you could have done. We don't know why your dad decided to commit suicide. We never will, and that's kept us all from healing completely. For you, more than me, it's been like a festering wound. I've always hoped that you would be able to work through it, but I knew I couldn't do it for you. I love you, Tim. You did nothing wrong that day," she laughed a little, "bar disobeying your mother. More than that, your father certainly would not blame you and he wouldn't want you to blame yourself either."

Tim was crying again, the tears sliding silently down his cheeks. "I miss him, Mom. Even now. _Why_ did he do it?"

"I don't know, Tim. I miss him, too. It's okay to miss him, but you need to stop blaming yourself. Try to sleep tonight, Timothy."

"I'll try. I love you, Mom. Good night."

"Good night."

Tim disconnected and dropped the phone to the floor. He held his head in his hands and cried. Sarah put her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Tim?"

"What, Sarah?"

"Tell me."

Tim sniffed as he tried to stop the tears. "Tell you what?"

"Tell me something about Dad. I don't have many memories of him, you know. No fair you getting all the goods and leaving me high and dry." She said it lightly, but she was serious.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Something happy. There's been too much of everything else."

Tim thought a moment and a mischievous grin spread across his face. He said, "Did you know that Dad liked to juggle?"

Sarah sat up and faced Tim. She pushed him over. "He did not, you liar."

"I swear. We went to the circus once and he decided that he'd teach himself how to juggle, just like the clowns." Tim grinned again. "And while we were there, we picked you up as well."

Sarah grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. Tim caught it easily and threw it back. A furious pillow fight ensued. They eventually declared a truce and ordered pizza. As they ate, Sarah kept looking at Tim, but she didn't say anything. He knew she was still worried. To be honest, he was too. Knowing what caused the nightmares didn't stop them from happening.

As he lay down, Tim looked at the clock. How long would he last?

"Don't think about it, Tim. You'll only make it worse."

"I know, but that doesn't make it easier to forget."

"Just close your eyes and think about Dad juggling."

In spite of himself, Tim laughed softly, "That's not exactly sleep-inducing."

"Neither are your nightmares, Tim."

Tim's smile faded. "I know."

"Close your eyes and sleep."

Tim obeyed, and he did sleep more that night. However, three times he woke up in a blind panic. The only improvements were that he didn't throw up and he didn't scream, well not loudly anyway. The terror was still there. All the logic in the world couldn't suppress the trauma of the last fifteen years.

The next morning, Sarah was solemn as they both got ready for their day. "Tim..."

He shook his head and smiled and, with a conviction he still didn't feel, said, "Sarah, it's going to take time. My subconscious is still thirteen years old."

"I just... I hate this. I hate seeing what it does to you."

Tim looked at his watch and didn't answer. It was time to leave. Together they walked out the door and got in Tim's car. The ride was silent, but as he pulled up to campus, Tim looked at his sister and said, "I hate it, too, Sarah. But I have to believe that everything will work out, eventually. I'll see you later."

"Eventually. Bye, Tim."


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Later that day, as he walked up to the Rivens house, Tim paused. "Right. I can do this," he told himself.

"Of course you can, Probie," Tony said from behind him. He slugged Tim on the shoulder. "But you won't get it done standing out here like a bump on a log."

"I know." Tim took deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Agent McGee. Agent DiNozzo. Come in," Liz Rivens held the door open for them. She was putting on a good act, but Tim could see in her eyes the same guilt he carried. He desperately wanted to erase that guilt...in both of them. Tony and Tim sat down on the couch across from the widow and noticed that there were a lot of boxes strewn around the house. "I'm sorry for the mess. I've been trying to go through our-my things."

"Are you moving, Ms. Rivens?" Tony asked in surprise.

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm no longer married to Navy personnel. Base housing is for the families of soldiers." She smiled sadly. "Besides, I can't stay in this house. Too many memories. I'm going to stay with my parents for awhile and figure out what else to do."

"I understand, Ms. Rivens," Tim said. "We wanted to tell you that we found the man who killed your husband."

Her eyes wide, a glimmer of hope came out as she spoke. "You did? What happened?"

Tim mentally collected himself. He had told Tony that he could do it, and he would. "He was the victim of a copycat serial killer. We don't know exactly when, but he picked out your husband weeks ago and lured him to a running trail near the house where we found him. It was part of a series of murders going back almost twenty years. Lt. Rivens was just the most recent victim."

"I see." She looked almost disappointed, as if she had been expecting more. "Thank you for telling me." She stood and walked them to the door. "Will... Will his body be released soon?"

"If you come by headquarters, we'll make arrangements for releasing your husband to you for-for burial."

She nodded. "Thank you."

They were almost out the door when Tim stopped and turned back. "Ms. Rivens."

"Yes, Agent McGee?"

Tim took her hand. "It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done to prevent your husband's murder."

"How can you know that for sure?" she asked, quietly, earnestly.

"Because I know how you must be feeling. But the man who killed your husband did not pick him because you argued with him. He picked him because he saw him out running, long before your husband left this house. I know this isn't much comfort for you right now, but please remember it because it's true."

Liz Rivens looked at Tim with a new appreciation in her eyes. "So many people have said that they know how I feel, when they don't. But I can see that _you_ do understand what it's been like." She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry that you do. Thank you, Agent McGee. I'll remember what you said."

"You're welcome, Ms. Rivens. I'm just sorry that it has to be this way."

"Me, too, but I'll survive. Good-bye, Agent McGee, Agent DiNozzo."

"Good-bye, Ms. Rivens."

Tim managed to keep his composure until the car pulled away from the house. Then, he slumped a little in his seat.

"Good job, McGee."

Tim looked out the side window. "I just hope it was enough."

They pulled up to a stoplight and Tony looked over at Tim. "You did what you could, McGee. The rest will be up to her. You can't _make_ her feel better, but I think you helped."

Tim met Tony's eyes. They were sincere. "Thanks, Tony." Tim looked forward as the light turned green and they started moving again. He debated whether or not to say it. What the heck. Let Tony make of it what he would. "You did, too."

Tony chuckled. "You did most of the talking, Probie."

"No. I meant... you helped _me_. Thanks."

Tony shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the trend of the conversation.

Tim just smiled and didn't say anything more. He didn't need any acknowledgment. He needed to give it and that was all.


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

It was late in the evening and everyone had left. Tim had insisted on finishing his report before leaving. He had also insisted that no one wait for him. For once, he thought a little cynically, they had actually listened to him. He finished his report and sent it to the printer. Gibbs might find mistakes in it, but now he wouldn't have to think about it for a couple of days. Maybe by then he'd be back to normal. He looked around the darkened office. No one around. He sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

"Still here, McGee?" Gibbs said as he appeared out of nowhere.

Tim looked up quickly. "Yes, boss. Just finishing my report."

"You could have done that on Monday."

"I know." Tim stood up and walked to the printer. He picked up his completed report and handed it to Gibbs.

"I won't be reading this until Monday, McGee."

Tim smiled. "Good. Then, I won't be either." He paused and then hurriedly added, "Boss."

Gibbs just grunted.

Tim picked up his bag and started to leave. Then, he stopped.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

Tim hesitated, then let the words out in a rush, "How do you deal with it?"

"With what?" Gibbs looked up at him.

"With what happened to your family."

Gibbs' face froze. He just stared at Tim as if he hadn't understood the question.

Immediately, Tim was abashed. "I'm sorry, boss. That was out of line. It's personal. I shouldn't have–"

Gibbs interrupted, "Why are you asking, McGee?" His voice didn't sound angry.

"I-it's just that it doesn't seem to affect you anymore. I mean," he smiled wanly, "everyone's seen how well I dealt with my father's death. It's been fifteen years and I still haven't..." he trailed off, not knowing how to explain it.

Gibbs said nothing. He put the report down on the desk, turned out his light and walked over to Tim. Involuntarily, Tim tensed, expecting a head slap.

Gibbs just said, "Not a day goes by that I don't think about them."

"Then, how–?"

Gibbs actually smiled at him. "Our situations are very different, McGee. I was able to get closure, awful as it was. You can't, not in the same way."

Tim looked away.

"Here's the thing, though, McGee: I don't focus on their deaths anymore. I remember their lives."

Tim looked back. "How do I do that?" he asked, earnestly. It was easier to talk to Gibbs in the half light of the office. It never occurred to him that Gibbs preferred it as well.

"That I don't know, McGee."

Tim nodded, with resignation. "Thanks." He looked much the same as Liz Rivens had earlier that day when he told her what had happened to her husband.

Tim started to walk to the elevator and was surprised when Gibbs put his hand on his shoulder.

"One question, McGee: What image comes into your head when you think of your father?"

Tim closed his eyes. Unbidden, the image that had been seared into his brain so many years ago welled up. He felt the all-too-familiar tears prick his eyes.

Even though he didn't answer, Gibbs said, "As long as that's what you see, McGee, you'll never get past it."

Tim nodded and didn't resist as Gibbs moved him to the elevator.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

When Tim finally walked into his apartment, it was late enough that Sarah had unwillingly fallen asleep without him. He smiled when he saw her curled up on his bed. Instead of going to bed himself, Tim went to his bookshelf and pulled down an innocuous-looking book. He read the inscription on the inside cover as he had so many times:_ Timothy, I'm saving this book for when you're a teenager and think your parents don't know anything. Maybe it will create a topic of conversation between a father and a son, even when they have nothing else in common. It's the first true detective novel, easily predating the more famous Sherlock Holmes. It even made _me_ want to be detective. Maybe you'll catch the same fever. Love, Dad._

Tim turned over to the title page and read the words he'd read so many times before: _The Moonstone_ by Wilkie Collins. He'd read the copy so many times that the pages were wearing out. His mom had found it when cleaning out some of his dad's old things and saved it for his high school graduation. He smiled when he thought of his dad reading the same book. He hadn't been kidding when he had told Sarah that Dad liked to juggle, but his favorite image of their father was him sitting in his old recliner in the study, reading yet another book. That's how he would have _wanted_ to be remembered, Tim realized. Gibbs was right. He had to change what he saw.

Now determined, Tim went to bed, but instead of settling down to sleep, he opened _The Moonstone_ and began to read, starting with the first lines: "I address these lines—written in India—to my relatives in England. My object is to explain the motive which has induced me to refuse the right hand of friendship to my cousin, John Herncastle." His father, being the literary critic that he was, had written commentaries in the margins on nearly every page. Tim read those as well, his eyes often lingering on the neat little annotations. He continued to read, page after page, until his eyes got heavy. Finally, against his will, his eyes closed and the book dropped.

The basement stairs loomed up in front of him. He trudged down them, powerless to change what happened. He flipped on the light and looked around at the messy basement. This was going to take forever. He sighed and walked around the corner to the alcove where the broom was and stopped. ...he stopped...

_I will not see this again_...

His father sat in his favorite comfy chair with that silly pipe he always had, unlit, in his mouth...

He walked around the corner...

_No. I won't see this happen_...

His dad tried for the hundredth time to get the juggling right, laughing every time his misjudged and a ball dropped on his head...

He stopped and stared...

_I'm not seeing him that way_...

The pile of books by his dad's chair seemed to reach the ceiling. He looked up as Tim walked in. "You have a lot of catching up to do, Timothy."

...he walked down the stairs to the basement...

_No. Not again_...

His father beckoned him to join him and his mom outside. "It's kite weather, Timothy! Let's go!"

...he looked into his father's eyes ...they were empty, dead.

...they were twinkling with humor as Tim tried, clumsily, to mimic his father's antics...

He was just...

_No!_

...he was twirling his mom around in a circle, pretending to dance...

Images piled on images. As sometimes happens in dreams, Tim was able to nudge his mind away from the painful memory, but it was still there. He fought it and almost won.

...his father sat in his chair, eyes intent on the words written on the page as the lights grew dimmer... and dimmer...

"Tim?"

The voice cut through the darkness.

"Tim?"

His eyelids fluttered. It felt like he was dragging himself out of a deep well, with weights tied to his shoes.

"Tim, it's almost noon."

Tim's eyes opened wide. "What did you say?"

Sarah sounded almost triumphant. "I said, it's almost noon. Are you going to sleep all day?"

"I'd like to," he muttered.

"Well, you can't. You won't get any sleep tonight if you do."

"Oh, the irony." Tim sat up and stretched. He didn't feel rested, exactly, but he felt... good. Good in a way he hadn't for a long, long time.

"Are you okay, Tim?"

Tim looked at his sister, her concern obvious, and smiled. "Yes, Sarah. I'm fine."

She smiled back. "Good. Where are you taking me for lunch?"

As Tim got up and started to get ready for a day that was already half over, he reflected on the dreams of the night just past and realized that for the first time, he wasn't dreading the night. He looked down at _The Moonstone_ lying on the floor where he had dropped it. As he bent down to pick it up, thought of his father and smiled.

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**A/N:** I love _The Moonstone_ and I was excited when McGee mentioned it in one of the earlier episodes. If you haven't read, you really should. Wilkie Collins was able to craft a wonderful writing style and an intriguing plot. Unless you know the story already, you'll never guess how it ends!

I actually have had nights like the one I described for Tim where I had nightmares that would keep coming back. It always takes a huge amount of effort to shift the course of a dream, but it is possible, especially if you really want to happen. It's also really hard to describe in words, but I hope you at least got the sense of what was happening. As always, if you feel there are things I could have done better, I'm open to criticism.


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